Chapter 10

The sun sank behind the tangled trees leaving a warm glow permeating the damp air.  The cries of dusk flooded out from the jungle, starting suddenly at some unknown signal.  The river flowed, dark and smooth, a broad ribbon of quiet power bordered by frantic, living chaos.

Three old men, surrounded by children fluttering like moths around a candle, emerged from the forest carrying boxes.  Each of the children held in their hands a wooden boat, which each had carved or whittled (according to their skill) over the previous weeks or days (according to their discipline) for this very night.  The elders walked out onto the little promontory of rock and slowly settled on the ground, their joints popping and creaking.  The children whirled around them, pleading and begging for attention, flourishing their little wooden boats.  The universal gestures asking for calm and patience were produced and the children gathered around in a restless circle.

In turn each of the children handed their carved treasure to one of the old men, who took from their box a delicate, translucent globe made of paper and attached it to the boat.  With a brief admonishment to be careful the boat was then passed back to the child who walked away towards the part of the promontory furthest into the current of the stream.  The care with which the children walked, protecting their glorious prizes, was just the sweet side of comical.

Once all of the boats had been equipped with their globes the elders closed the boxes, groaned to their feet, stretching and grimacing, and then limped over towards the children.  A transformation had come over the children as they stood silently and attentive, easing out of the way as the old men walked through them and gingerly stepped into the shallow water.  They steadied themselves against the pull of the current, the smoothness of the water hiding the power beneath its surface.  As any elder will do with a child and potential danger they gave the necessary warning about the hungry nature of the river, some of which may even have penetrated the gleaming eyes of the listeners.

It was truly dusk now, right on the cusp of night.  The sky was falling through the darker shades of blue and the first pinpricks of brightness were appearing in the heavens.  Three children passed over their boats and three men kindled slender flames in their hands and delicately lit the tiny candles within the globes.  As the boats were ever-so-gently placed onto the water both elder and child intoned, "Peace, hooloo hoo, peace."  The delicate globes of light, creating pools of light reflecting off the water and through the steamy air, drifted off downstream.

"Go little ones!  Go!  Run to your families" encouraged one of the elders to the children watching their magical boats drift off downstream.  Squealing with delight the three children ran back along the promontory and dashed down the path at the edge of the river towards their families, gathered together some distance downstream.  The elders worked efficiently, putting the light-boats into the water surely but quickly, producing a glowing flotilla drifting down the broad, black stream.  The last children were dancing with impatience for their turn to come, and when it did they sprinted off after the others so as not to miss anything.

As the last light moved away from them the old men came together, arms on each others shoulders, smiling the warm, contented smile that comes from making children happy with something that made you happy all those years ago.  They did not have the youthful legs necessary to see the next part, but they had seen it before and were glad to have played their part.  Somehow the time spent with the children and the sacrifice that came with the task made it all an honor, an added sweetness.

Downstream the rest of the village had gathered at an open spot by the side of the river.  Across from them was impenetrable jungle, at this point entirely dark.  The children dashed up to their parents, gasping for breath and trying to tell them about the events on the promontory but were hushed and told to look.  A quiet came over the villagers, all standing together in the dark as the first light of the flotilla came around a gentle curve.  It was eerie, safe, comforting, exciting, all at once.  There was a collective holding of breath as the individual bowls of light began to pass before them. 

Then, there!  Across the river, what had been total darkness now had two small green lights peering out.  They were joined quickly by other pairs of little green lights, shifting to the accompaniment of rustling leaves.  A pause as perfect stillness  came to the night, only broken by the drifting lights on the river.  Then a sound.  A deep throated vibration from across the river.  A man stepped forward and sang a single, sonorous note, "Hooooooooooo."  The night stood still again.

Among the green lights a chorus began.  Deep thrums, and higher calls, all the notes of a giant horn.  "Hoooommm  hooooloooooo hooooo."  The villagers took up the call and the river vibrated to the harmony of voices vibrating through the dark as the globes of light drifted down the great river.

As the last light passed and wended its way into the night the calls faded, and died away.  The villagers looked across at the green lights, which looked back for a moment and then vanished with the rustling of jungle leaves.  There was silence for just a moment, a chance to take in that magical moment that had gone so well.  Smiling faces and thanks for "Peace this year, hooloo hoo, peace."

The villagers held hands and walked their way back to the village for the fun of fire and feasting.